


Perfect Child

by cresselia8themoon



Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Doof's parents are in this everything with them is a tw, Gen, Implied Physical Abuse tw, Oneshot, emotional abuse tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresselia8themoon/pseuds/cresselia8themoon
Summary: Roger is polite, Heinz is not. Roger can charm the sternest military general, Heinz would just get himself booted out. Roger is an angel, Heinz is not. That’s the way the world’s works, right?





	Perfect Child

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This concept has been on the back burner for months but I think it would be interesting to do a little switcheroo, don’t you think?

The award ceremony was today, and everything was perfectly in order. His kickball uniform had been lovingly ironed, his cleats were dust-free, and an empty spot on the mantle awaited an engraved trophy. 

His lucky red kickball was bouncy and clean, perfect for the kicking demonstration Roger would give when the coach called his name. 

“Good morning, Mother,” Roger greeted as he walked into the kitchen. “Breakfast smells lovely today." 

Mother muttered something, pushing a hand to her face tiredly as she stirred the eggs. 

The motion drew Roger’s eyes to her hair, which was tucked in a messy bun with several brown strands escaping their confines. That was odd. Part of Mother’s morning routine involved spending forty minutes combing her hair into a perfect, neat bun. 

He filled the coffeepot with the correct amount of water. He prided himself on his ability to make coffee his mother liked. 

Father’s coffee was harsh and bitter, an unforgiving mass of swirling black tar. He always claimed it was how real men took it. And if Heinz didn’t blow up the coffeepot with some weird invention, his mugs tended to contain enough sugar to put an entire doonkleberry cheesecake to shame. 

Really, there was nothing hard about brewing the perfect mug for Mother. One scoop of beans, water to the third long black line, brew, pour into ‘Ich liebe Mutti’ mug, add one teaspoon of sugar and two tablespoons of cream. 

"Mother, your coffee’s ready,” Roger announced as he set the mug on a placemat. 

Mother didn’t fully wake up until she had her coffee. Roger was a skilled navigator when it came to handling her more irritable moods. Just say things she liked and the problem was solved. 

Father didn’t care for open displays of emotion. 

Heinz would frazzle her nerves the moment he opened his mouth. 

But Mother simply plated the eggs and potatoes, her back turned to Roger. There were three plates laid out. 

That wasn’t unusual. Heinz must’ve done something to earn a less tasty breakfast. 

Mother set the loaded plates on the table. Steam rose from the potatoes and eggs, filling the room with an enticing scent. Roger eagerly took his seat, closing his eyes and allowing the familiar smell of Mother’s cooking surround him. 

Mother glared at him. 

Roger just smiled. She hadn’t touched her coffee yet. Maybe she was so tired she mistook him for his crazy brother. “You make wonderful breakfasts,” Roger said amiably, figuring that compliments would cheer her up. 

Mother’s glare didn’t waver. 

Roger fiddled with the tablecloth, averting his eyes completely. Silence always worked when Father was angry. Stay quiet, stay still, and he didn’t notice. 

But Mother was never angry at him. She was perpetually frustrated with Heinz’s antics, but Roger didn’t do the sort of things that Heinz did. Roger didn’t test her boundaries, he didn’t blow stuff up, and he certainly didn’t question her decisions. 

Mother knew best. 

Heinz didn’t understand that. 

“Porridge is in the icebox,” Mother snapped. She yanked the plate of eggs and potatoes away. 

Roger’s stomach grumbled in protest, but he slid off his chair obediently and took out the bowl of cold porridge. There would be enough to satisfy his hunger, but it just wasn’t eggs and potatoes. 

She was probably concerned about his weight. He’d always been chubbier than his peers. 

He was halfway through with his bowl of porridge by the time Heinz walked into the kitchen. 

“Looks great!” Heinz exclaimed, shoveling eggs into his mouth at an alarming pace. 

Roger winced at his brother’s appalling lack of table manners. 

“So hungry!” Mother declared as she sipped her coffee. “Make sure you eat all of it. You’re too thin.” 

“Ye’th Mo’er,” Heinz said through a mouthful of potatoes. 

“Mother, may I have eggs please?” Roger asked. 

Mother’s smile evaporated. “Is the porridge not enough?” she barked. “You’re not starved. You’re not a common street whelp.” 

For a single, terrifying moment, Roger’s limbs wouldn’t work. His hands dug into the tablecloth, rooting him to the spot. He had to say something. 

Defuse the situation. Make her not angry anymore. 

What did he say if Heinz mouthed off and Mother was still angry after she punished him? 

“You’re right, Mother,” Roger agreed. “I apologize. I won’t ask again.” 

He avoided looking at Heinz’s plate, which had a second helping of eggs on it. 

Mother sniffed. “Your brother knows how to show gratitude. I carried you for nine months, the least you could do is appreciate it.” 

Heinz gulped loudly enough that Mother’s attention flickered to him. “I just got an idea I wanna sketch out. No idea what I’m calling it yet, but it’s gonna be cool. Roger can take the rest of my breakfast if he wants. Can’t wait much longer, see ya!” he yelled, shoving his plate in Roger’s direction before sprinting out of the room. 

Roger didn’t take the plate, half-afraid Mother would snatch it up before he could take a single bite. But Mother slid the plate in front of him. 

“Heinz is being generous. So don’t be wasteful,” Mother muttered. 

The eggs didn’t taste that great after all. 

* * *

As soon as he washed the dishes to Mother’s satisfaction (which took an hour), Roger knocked on Heinz’s bedroom door. Maybe his brother knew something he didn’t. Heinz tended to squirm if he felt guilty. He also rubbed his neck, avoided eye contact, and talked incoherently. 

Heinz was a terrible liar. No wonder he got punished so much if he couldn’t even hide the things he did. 

There was a muffled yelp from behind the door. 

It was taking a while for Heinz to answer, but Roger waited patiently. 

Then a harsh stomping of hunting boots against floorboards drew closer. Mother was probably too tired to protect him from Father. Roger was on his own.

Deciding that self-preservation overrode politeness, Roger wrenched open Heinz’s door, scrambled into the bedroom, and shut it behind him. He kept one hand on the doorknob, worried that Father had seen him and wanted to yell at him too. 

The footsteps faded away, and Roger breathed a sigh of relief. 

Heinz was frozen on his bed, his hands shoved underneath a thin blanket. The blanket couldn’t even hide a mouse, so it was unlikely the arrow-shaped lump would escape Mother and Father’s scrutiny.

After a long moment, Heinz fell back against his bed frame, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. “Don’t stomp around like Father for a joke!” he spat. “That’s not funny!” 

“Sorry to startle you,” Roger said, deciding to ignore Heinz’s thought process. He’d never understand what went through Heinz’s head anyway. “But Father and I would’ve crossed paths if I hadn’t ducked into your bedroom, and you saw how tired Mother was at breakfast. She’s not in a state to help me with Father.” 

“Ugh, can’t you talk normal?” Heinz groaned, pitching a pillow at Roger’s head. But since he didn’t have a good throwing arm, Roger didn’t even have to dodge. 

Roger had no idea what Heinz was talking about, so he ignored that statement too. “Why’s Mother so tired? What did you do this time?” he asked. 

Heinz clapped a hand to his mouth, but several giggles escaped him. “You think Mother’s tired? Seriously? That’s all you got from this?” 

“If she isn’t tired, then why is she acting this way?” Roger asked. “Does she have pills?” 

Pills had a tendency to make people act funny, Roger noticed. Frau Schulz once bought a bottle from a traveling peddler and hadn’t been the same since. Now everybody gave her house a wide berth because she tended to beat up passersby with a meterstick. 

“Nope! She doesn’t have pills! I zapped her with this!” Heinz hopped off the bed, pulling back the blanket to reveal a strange white device. “And you know what? It worked! She actually loves me now! I haven’t tested the waters with Father yet, cause I’d really prefer Mother to be there in the off-chance Father wasn’t affected, cause you’re not totally immune to his wrath either and I don’t wanna risk getting saddled with lawn gnome duty since that could potentially cause Mother to not love me anymore.” 

Heinz seriously thought that just because they needed to discipline him a lot meant that they didn’t love him? 

“Mother does love you,” Roger said. “You just think she’s unfair.” 

Heinz snorted. “Wow. You just don’t get it, do you?” 

“What exactly am I supposed to understand here?” Roger asked, all civility vanishing. “Mother was cross with me because of you. You need to go apologize for zapping her with that thing and for cooking up this scheme just to avoid getting grounded.”

Heinz growled. An actual growl that belonged more to a wild animal than an eleven-year-old. 

“I zapped them so they’d love me!” Heinz shouted, pushing his face into Roger’s to drive the point home. Roger wasn’t scared of him though. Father was a million times worse. “I don’t care about avoiding trouble! And they still love you too! The inator wasn’t designed so they’d hate you like they used to hate me!”

Heinz’s voice wavered as if he was trying to convince himself more than he was denying Roger’s accusation. 

“They don’t hate you,” Roger said, though he was certain his words would fall on deaf ears. “They’re trying to straighten you out so you don’t screw up in the real world.” 

Heinz shoved Roger towards the door, his face scrunched up in anger. “Get out!” he yelled. “You took everything! At least let me have a few square feet to myself!” 

Roger allowed Heinz to forcefully push him out, though it would just take one well-aimed kick to dislodge Heinz. But he didn’t see the point in getting physical. Words were a much more effective tool. 

“I’m letting Mother know you’re trying to avoid punishment,” Roger said calmly. 

The color drained out of Heinz’s face. He bit his lip, wringing his hands in nervous anticipation. “You can’t tell! I can’t get in trouble!” 

“It’s the right thing to do,” Roger declared as he marched down the stairs. He ignored Heinz’s cries of protest. 

Mother and Father were in the living room. Mother hummed to herself as she knitted a frilly pink dress, while Father cleaned his prized hunting knife. Eyeing the sharp object warily, Roger stuck close to Mother’s side of the room as he approached. 

“Mother, Heinz is lying again,” Roger said. Mother’s humming abruptly stopped, and she peered at him through half-lidded eyes. “He did something and now he’s scared that you’ll make him do more chores.” 

“Heinz does not lie,” Mother said. “Don’t accuse your brother of such things.” 

“He’s hiding something,” Roger added. He spoke slowly and enunciated each syllable, focusing on keeping his tone even and controlled. Adults only listened if a kid spoke like an adult. 

Mother set the frilly dress aside. She beckoned Roger over with her finger. He glanced at Father, but the man was completely focused on his knife’s metallic surface. Roger felt sweat on his palms, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t hot enough to sweat. 

His legs stiffened against his will as he stood in front of her. 

She did not pick him up, ruffle his hair, or smile. 

“I did not punish your ungratefulness at breakfast, nor your incompetence at washing dishes,” Mother said coldly. Her tone made Antarctica seem like a tropical paradise. “But if the next thing that comes out of your mouth is a lie about Heinz, I will tack on additional hours to your lawn gnome duty. Do I make myself clear?” 

He had lawn gnome duty. 

He never had to serve lawn gnome duty. 

Father tried to make him do a shift with Heinz once, but Mother pitched a fit. 

 _It’s too dangerous for Roger!_ she had cried.  _The witches are more interested in plump children! He won’t last out there! You’ll get more wear out of Heinz. The witches will find him repulsive._

Father’s ‘BEWEGEN DICH NICHT’ had never been directed towards Roger, but he always felt an inexplicable urge to not breathe, not move, and not speak whenever the phrase was bellowed at Heinz. 

“Answer me when I ask you a question,” Mother snapped. 

He could compliment Mother. But that had nothing to do with the topic at hand. 

He could reason with her. But something told him logic was no match for Mother’s anger. 

He could apologize, though he knew he did nothing wrong. Heinz was hiding things. Mother always said hiding things was the equivalent of lying. Heinz was trying to avoid punishment, though Roger didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish in the long run. 

Don’t try to negotiate punishment, Roger had learned from observation. Adults didn’t like that. 

Yes, apologizing seemed like the best option. 

“I apologize,” Roger said quietly, his head bowed to make himself sound more sincere. 

It was completely unfair, but Roger didn’t dare say it out loud. 

“Mother!” a shrill voice yelled. 

Roger looked up, startled as Heinz barged into the living room. Heinz flew straight into Mother’s lap, settling on her skirt with a contented grin. He could only stare in disbelief as Mother hugged Heinz back, her mood brightening considerably. 

Father huffed at the affectionate display and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Upon hearing the loud bang, Heinz jumped, his knuckles turning white against Mother’s sleeve. But Mother continued to hold him, stroking his hair and whispering comforting words. 

Heinz only relaxed when it became clear that Father wouldn’t be returning anytime soon, but he still looked rather pensive.

An unpleasant feeling settled in Roger’s stomach as he watched Mother and Heinz talk to each other, laughing at things only they could understand. Mother never hugged Heinz. Heinz frustrated her. Naughty children got scolded, not hugged. 

Roger swallowed, daring to take one step closer. Mother and Heinz looked so comfortable…maybe there was room for one more. 

It might be a tight fit for Heinz and him to be on Mother’s lap at the same time, but they’d manage. 

Roger reached out, feeling the smooth fabric of Mother’s dress against his hand.

Then the dress was pulled out of his reach, and Mother drew herself to her full height, carrying Heinz in the crook of her arm. 

“Heinz needs me now,” Mother said, inclining her head as if she was watching a particularly annoying insect. 

Heinz’s mouth dropped open, and his gaze flickered between Mother and Roger, an odd expression on his face. “Mother…you can hug Roger too. Really, I don’t mind. Roger could use one too. I’m not really a baby anymore, and you always like hugging Roger, so…” 

Mother shook her head, gently silencing Heinz with a finger on his lips. “Roger hasn’t earned one. First, he tells me that you’ve lied to me. Even though you’re the most trustworthy child in the village. Everyone knows it. Now he demands things he hasn’t earned.” 

Heinz’s face turned red shamefully, and he refused to make eye contact with anyone. 

Roger said nothing. Mother had called him the most trustworthy child in the village once. All the other kids would lie, cheat, and steal. Roger had been raised better than that. 

“You will not be going to the award ceremony,” Mother continued. “I know you tricked the coach into giving you a trophy.”

The words tumbled out of Roger’s mouth before he could stop them. “But I’m the best player on the team! I earned that trophy, and everyone’s expecting me to be there! I can’t just-” his protests died away as Mother leveled a cold glare at him. 

“Would you like to argue and make it worse, or would you like to accept and be done with it?” she asked. 

She was right of course. Mother was always right. 

Wordlessly, Roger shook his head. 

Heinz had watched the entire exchange with an uncharacteristic silence, staring at Roger with pity written all over his face. 

Roger stared back at his brother, silently daring him to make the situation worse. 

Heinz was normally an open book. But now Roger couldn’t tell what his brother was thinking at all. 

“Mother, can we go to the ceremony?” Heinz finally asked. “Our neighbor Kenny is on Roger’s team, remember? I wanna go support him.” 

“What a sweet friend you are,” Mother told Heinz. 

Heinz smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Mother sighed, finally putting Heinz down. Roger was glad. The sight of Mother holding Heinz was too weird for him. “Very well. I suppose Roger will have to receive his trophy somehow. Otherwise, they’ll give the trophy to  _Frederick-”_ she spat the name as though it left a sour taste in her mouth “-and I’ll be forced to listen to Helga’s nonstop bragging at bridge club.” 

Every coach in Gimmelschtump and the surrounding villages knew of Mother and Helga’s rivalry when it came to cheering on their sons at kickball games, and no umpire dared challenge a call if Roger and Frederick were involved. The boys avoided each other out of embarrassment since they didn’t want to deal with their mothers’ antics. 

Heinz’s eyes turned pleading. “Can I just meet you and Roger at the field? I want to go buy Kenny a present, and there’s still a little time, and Roger needs to put on his uniform anyway, so…”

He was fibbing again, though Mother didn’t seem to notice. Roger bit his tongue to prevent another slip of the tongue, wondering why he had to be saddled with a chronic liar for a brother. 

Mother smiled. An actual, warm smile.

But it wasn’t for Roger. 

“I’ll give you a few coins for your present,” Mother said, bending down and planting a kiss on Heinz’s forehead. “Wait here.” 

Mother kept money in her dresser, and the boys knew better than to venture into the master bedroom without explicit permission. Even Heinz, who often demonstrated that rules were meant to be broken, never crossed this line.

Before Roger could stop him, Heinz used the opportunity to grab the device he claimed he used to make his parents love him. 

“What are you doing?” Roger asked, in his best you-didn’t-listen voice. “She said to wait here!” 

Heinz scowled as he grabbed a worn coat from the closet, buttoning it up to his chin to conceal the device. “I have to zap them again. While they’re not doting on me. It’s kinda gross. How do you put up with it? Well, Mother at least. Father still avoided me. The only thing he did was not force me to be a lawn gnome today.” 

“You’re zapping them cause you can’t handle the responsibility?” Roger asked. 

Heinz snorted. “You’re just a dumb kid. What do you know? I don’t wanna deal with you moping anymore, got it? Mother doesn’t like to wait. I’d hurry and put on my uniform if I were you. And I need to zap Father first, so don’t tell Mother where I’m actually going.” 

Roger trudged to his room. The uniform and kickball were right where he left them, but he didn’t feel like going to the ceremony anymore. 

* * *

Mother didn’t praise his kickball skills on the way to the field. She refused to hold his hand, making him walk several steps behind her. 

Roger assumed Heinz had gone to Herr Freitag’s house, where Father played cards on Thursdays. He wasn’t exactly sure how Heinz planned on getting in, or how he would aim at Father. Heinz tended to botch the simplest tasks, so he didn’t have high hopes of Heinz succeeding. 

Then again, Roger wasn’t sure what Heinz was hoping to accomplish by hitting their parents with a laser beam. 

A wooden stage had been set up next to the pitcher’s mound, his teammates milling around their parents as Coach Weiss made the final preparations. Folding chairs were set up for the audience, and Mother took her seat in the back row. 

Mother used to sit in the front. 

Helga, a woman with a rather bulbous nose, scoffed at Mother as she passed. Frederick curtly nodded at Roger, refusing to look at Mother. Most kids were scared of her for some reason. 

Roger didn’t speak to any of his teammates as they were seated in their designated area. He clutched the hem of his shorts as Coach Weiss greeted the audience. 

There was a trophy for everyone on the team, with their position listed below the name. There were also trophies for Best Kicker, Most Team Spirit, and Future Hall of Famer, in addition to the large championship trophy that would go into the village’s archives for everyone to gawk at when they found the time. 

“I’d like to call our star player up to the stage first!” Coach Weiss boomed. “In all my years of coaching, I have never met a child gifted with such skills! Come on up, Roger Doofenshmirtz!” 

Roger loved attention. But there was no clapping or whistling from the person whose attention he wanted most of all. He could barely see Mother, even as he ascended the steps. But he knew her posture was stiff, her hands folded in her lap. 

She was looking at the entrance of the field rather than the stage. She was probably more concerned at how Heinz hadn’t shown up yet. 

Roger felt no joy as Coach Weiss passed the trophy to him. 

“Your mother get cursed or something?” Coach Weiss asked. Unfortunately, he caught the audience’s attention too. People whispered as they brainstormed Mother’s strange behavior. She was usually the loudest one in the audience. 

Even the outfielders normally heard everything she screamed. 

Roger forced himself to smile and bow graciously, and the whispering died down. He just needed to get the audience to believe that nothing was wrong. 

Today was just a weird day and everything would soon be normal and forgotten. 

Eventually, all the general trophies were passed out. Roger gritted his teeth. It had ended too soon. Now they’d be handing out the truly special trophies. 

“Frederick has earned the Most Team Spirit award!” Coach Weiss announced. 

Helga screeched like a banshee as Frederick rushed up to the stage, his cheeks resembling a tomato. He quickly thanked Coach Weiss and hurried back to his seat. He kept his head down and refused to look at his mother, who bragged loudly to several nearby annoyed parents. 

Mother didn’t take the opportunity to brag about him. 

“One very bright little boy has surpassed expectations. Under normal circumstances, the Kickball Committee for Youths only allows one special trophy per player. However, I requested special permission to allow one of our gifted athletes to receive two special trophies. They sent a representative to sit in at one of our games, and he was blown away by the remarkable aptitude of this player!” 

Special. Remarkable. 

None of the other boys on the team received compliments like that. Kenny was average, and while Frederick was good, he wasn’t that good. 

“I proudly present Roger with the Best Kicker and Future Hall of Famer trophies!” 

Roger didn’t want to look at Mother, not wanting to see her disappointment stain his achievements. But he did anyway. 

A movement behind her caught his eye, and Roger watched curiously as Coach Weiss boasted of Roger’s kickball prowess. The tip of a metallic device poked around a corner, and a red beam of light struck Mother. 

Everyone was too busy clapping at Roger (or in Helga’s case, sulking) to notice the strange light. 

Coach Weiss deposited the two trophies in Roger’s arms, but Roger barely noticed their combined weight. 

Mother blinked, confused by the clapping audience in front of her. Then she stood up and looked at the stage. 

Roger’s breath hitched as he and Mother stared at each other. 

After a long moment, she shrieked in delight and dashed towards the stage. 

“Roger! That’s my son!” she exclaimed. “I’m so proud!” 

Roger laughed as she picked him up, setting him on her shoulders. 

Mother was back. Mother was back and that was all he wanted. The trophies were nice additions, but they paled in comparison to a mother who would cheer for him in kickball. 

While Mother and Coach Weiss whisked Roger away for pictures, he caught a glimpse of his brother. Heinz was partly hidden behind a bleacher, tears streaming down his face as he choked out something inaudible, but Roger recognized the lip movements, having seen the same motion uttered a million times before. 

_I love you, Mother._

Camera after camera took pictures of Roger, and he smiled for each one. But by the time he looked back, Heinz had run off. 

The strange device had been broken beyond repair. 

The remaining pieces were trampled into the mud. 

* * *

Heinz was punished with five hours of lawn gnome duty and dusting the permanently filthy shed as a result of interrupting Father’s card game, stealing money from Mother’s dresser, and arguing about the unfairness of it all. 

Mother was loving and kind and Father was Father. 

Everything was normal again. 

_Epilogue_

Roger remained close to Mother, taking the time to visit her though his schedule was packed with social engagements and mayoral duties.

Mother was loving and firm, a source of encouragement when he needed it most.

But there had been a day when her loving nature seemed to vanish, his security net swept away by a roaring tide of uncertainty.

No, the stress of campaigning was causing him to believe things that weren’t true.

That day had been nothing more than a fever dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Heinz probably learned the hard way that science is no substitute for loving parents. That’s why he never targeted his parents with a scheme in the show. Sadly, there’s no way he’ll ever get their love and respect. Not the way he wants. 
> 
> Roger can’t even consider the truth about his parents. Better for him to believe his mother is a loving mother than accept that his mother was a monster.


End file.
